


Aay'han

by Mynsii



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, In memory of Hiromi Tsuru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynsii/pseuds/Mynsii
Summary: /Noun./The bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - it is remembering those who are lost or gone.





	Aay'han

**Author's Note:**

> My heart is breaking, and I can't get it to stop.  
> Thank you for leading me from childhood to adulthood. Thank you for providing me with a role model who helped shape me into the woman I am today. Thank you for bringing us love and laughter and joy. Thank you for breathing life into a character who has made us feel so much less alone, who inspired us, who healed us.  
> Thank you for being **our** Bulma.

Had anything ever hurt this bad before?

He had mourned his father's death, the loss of his people, in another lifetime and felt so far removed from the man he was then that the pain no longer felt real. Had struggled for years with Kakarot's absence. Had dealt with the icy sickness that came with seeing his own son lay bloody and broken at his feet, but this was different.

There was a finality to this that he couldn't ignore, that he couldn't will away with his strength or with orange spheres.

She was just... gone.

“You should go back inside.”

Bulma's voice was soft, worried, and when he glanced in her direction he found her eyes were gentle. It hurt to look at her for too long, more cutting than any war wound, and had to tear himself away to stare at the bleak, grey skyline before he was torn to pieces.

The rain beat down on his back, soaking his armour and cape to his skin. Black. He'd worn it only once before, years ago, ditching his usually blue attire in favour of something more fitting when he thought he'd dropped from the prince of a race of four to a race of one and three halflings.

He didn't want to wear it now.

“You'll make yourself sick if you keep this up,” she tried again. “You're not as young as you used to be, your immune system isn't as strong.”

He didn't care.

“Well, you should. You can't look after the kids if you're stuck in bed with the flu.”

His stomach twisted, his eyes burned. He had once torn himself apart and that was still less painful than this moment. “They don't need me.”

“They do.”

“No, they don't,” He paused, contemplating. Maybe he was going mad. If that was the case, he didn't care. “They need _you_.”

“Is that what you really think?”

Her voice was honey, and if he closed his eyes she shifted into something more corporeal. Her shoulders pressed against his, the scent of strawberries and fried circuitry tickling his nostrils. He felt her arms wrap around his waist and his breath hitched; a strangled sob that broke the dam and allowed his tears to fall freely.

“You're gone,” he managed to get out thickly.

One of her hands cupped his cheek and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, terrified that if they were to open just a fraction the illusion would shatter and she would fade away from him once more.

“I know.”

“ _I_ need you.”

“I'm sorry.”

She had nothing to apologise for. She had done nothing but love him when he didn't deserve it, trust him when he'd never earned it, stood by his side when others turned their backs, and bore him two children when he should have died and faded out of existence with the ruins of Namek. All the times he had shunned her, spurned her; left her to birth their first born alone; left her to care for a bastard child alone while he pretended he didn't care to protect his own pride; left her to weep and wonder whether his feelings for her truly ran deeper than reluctant reliance.

He was a monster.

“Vegeta?” She asked softly.

“I was never good enough for you,” he admitted, his hands fisting in the material at his thighs.

“I shot Goku in the face the first time I met him, I'm practically the queen of this planet, the only person who loves themselves more than I love myself is you. You're the only person who never tried to extinguish my fire, but add to it. Of course we're made for each other.”

“I hurt you so many times,” he sobbed.

“You also made me the happiest I've ever been,” she replied. “Chasing you was like an adventure all of it's own, like gathering the world's most reluctant Dragon Balls,” she broke off into a laugh, and the sound washed over him like waves rolling against the shore. “This mighty warrior who wrecked worlds and brought death to everything he touched spluttering and blushing like a school girl if I so much as complimented him. It was incredible. And when I realised I wanted you... when I realised you wanted me back... it was _such_ a power trip. And you were _great_ in bed.”

Despite himself he laughed, though the tears still burnt hotly against his cheeks, clashing with the biting cold of the rain. “Even in this form you insist on being vulgar.”

“It's not my fault we're both incredibly attractive and have explosive sexual chemistry. It's a curse more than anything.”

“Lewd woman.”

The rain lessened a little, and his cape no longer whipped about his body as violently. The storm was passing, dissipating, but that didn't stop his bones from aching with the chill of it.

“I'm so proud of you,” she said quietly. “You're such a good man now.”

“Only because of you.”

It was the truth. She was responsible for taming the monster that had wrought nothing but chaos for decades. She was responsible for teaching hands drenched in blood how to be careful, how to be gentle. She taught him how to use his hard body as more than a weapon, as a means for giving and taking pleasure, of creating life instead of destroying it.

“Because I'm amazing, _obviously._ ”

“Don't go, _please,”_ he begged. Their time together was drawing to a close, he could feel it. It frightened him, sent him spiralling into the fear that he'd now have to inhabit a world without her. One he knew was lonely and painful, and so devoid of anything substantial that he may as well not exist at all. He didn't want to go back to that life, _couldn't_ go back to that life. That Vegeta had died so long and to be forced to wear that armour again would be the worst torture he could imagine. _“_ I love you.”

“I love you too. But we have to say goodbye, just for now,” She no longer felt as real, no longer felt so solid against him. He wanted to open his eyes to see her face one final time, but was petrified that should he dare to chance a glance, he would flitter away what little time they had left. “Please don't be scared, you're not alone any more. You have your family. _Our_ family.”

“I only want you and the children. Nothing else matters to me.”

Her lips pressed to his temple. “You'll always have us. You'll always have me, right there with you, in your heart.”

“But that's not enough,” he said hoarsely. “I _need_ you here with me. I can't live in a universe without you in it.”

“You won't be. Trunks and Bra will be right by your side, and I'll be waiting for you on the other side, ready. Just think of this as a type of training, a few years in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and when you're ready you can open the door and I'll be right there with one of my sneak attacks that you hate so much.”

He snorted, oddly comforted by the thought, and nodded.

“Until we meet again, my prince.”

Finally, painfully, he allowed his eyes to open. There was nothing but a faint glimmer of gold, an echo of a silhouette that he had loved and committed to memory so many years ago. The clouds parted and a weak beam of sunlight alighted on him. Shrouding him. Protecting him. It was irrational, it went against all methodical thinking and his war-hardened, rational mind, but he _knew_ it was her.

A final tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He didn't want his son and daughter to see him in such a state. Didn't want to be soft when they needed a shield now more than ever. He blinked at the sunbeam, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

“Until then, my Bulma.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hiromi Tsuru, 29/04/1960 - 16/11/2017


End file.
